


Silencing the Sparrow

by bloodscout



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Trans Male Character, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 16:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5255582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn’t be so hard, he chastised himself. They’re all very accepting, progressive people. He should just be able to be out with it in a few moments and get on with his life. It should be a matter of a few words, but something held him back. Some niggling fear, some residual memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silencing the Sparrow

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was “Les Mis tropes” and I’ve tried to fill as many tropes as possible without making this fic too cliché. This is, unfortunately, the reason why there is no Joly. Trope list is in the end notes. Apologies to the requester – I couldn’t write these tropes into a high school AU.  
> This fic is alternatively titled “Everybody Stims”

This was going to be the day, Enjolras decided, as his hand hovered over the doorbell of his sister’s flat. He nervously shook his hands, as if he as shaking off water, and slammed the doorbell quickly before he could back out of it. When Cosette’s voice came through the buzzer, Enjolras was drawing aggressive patterns in the hallway carpet with the toe of his red converse.

“Is that you, _mon moineau_?” his twin asked, sounding elated.

“Its me, _alouette_.” He answered, and heard the click as the door was unlocked in front of him.

Cosette’s apartment was much like its owner; light, airy, and frugal. The two couches and the old CRT television had been found at roadside cleanups – Enjolras knew, he was the one to carry them – and the couches had been lovingly reupholstered in soft green fabrics. The simple pine table was a commission of their friend Feuilly, Cosette’s twenty-first birthday present, on which Cosette always kept a flower or two in a vase that Enjolras had made in a first year pottery elective. Other than that and an overfull bookcase – a trait both the twins shared – the front room was otherwise bare. Cosette had never been one for excessive clutter, a habit she had developed out of an austere childhood and a catholic-school adolescence. She instead kept her vanity to the inside of her closet and the large porcelain doll that sat atop her sewing table.

“it’s so nice to have you over, love.” Cosette called from the tiny kitchenette, probably in the middle of making tea. “I’ve got great news!”

Enjolras’s heart dropped. He had news too, but it wasn’t great news. It was, in fact, bad news. He didn’t want to put a dampener on his sister’s spirits; Cosette deserved all the happiness she could steal away from life, and Enjolras was loathe to be the one to steal it back. He swallowed his anxiety and smoothed back his unruly hair.

With Wagner playing officiously in the background, Cosette brought over a plate of tea and homemade madeleines. Madelines were a source of joking debate between the pair, with Enjolras standing firmly on the side that they were a horrible French stereotype and not even that good, and Cosette standing on the side that they were a childlike delight that she did not get that chance to partake in in her youth.

“Anyway, before I get into my boring life, what’s new with you? Read anything good? Or are you still rereading Rousseau?” Cosette teased.

Enjolras smiled, but darted his eyes away; in his bag, he still had the same decades old copy of _On The Social Contract_. He also was also stalling, not wanting to tell her what was on his mind. Enjolras shook his head, swallowing heavily. “No, by all means, you first. It’s obviously something very good,” he allowed himself a small smirk, and it almost reached his eyes. “You’ve straightened your hair.”

With an indignant squeak, Cosette visibly lit up, all politeness thrown aside. “Are you ready?” Her hands began excitedly wiggling by her sides. Enjorlas nodded his assent, and Cosette burst out with “I have a boyfriend!” the words almost physically pushing her forward, throwing her arms wide and shaking the table.

Enjolras tried to fake excitement, and made a valiant effort. He rose to embrace his sister, and shoved his own news to the pit of his stomach, where and angry storm was brewing. “That’s great!” He said, smiling, hoping that the disappointment in his voice wasn’t too audible.

Cosette seemed to be too excited either to notice or to be bothered by Enjolras’s disappointment, and didn’t stop shaking until a few seconds into the hug.

“You’d absolutely love him, _ange_.” Cosette muttered into Enjolras’s masses of hair. “He’s so kind, and sweet, and _political_.” She finally released her twin, to nod imperiously, putting on a voice to tell Enjolras, “He’s studying to be a lawyer, don’t you know.”

Enjolras allowed himself to be swept up momentarily in Cosette’s enthusiasm, mimicking her dramatic tone. “A lawyer, you say? What ever will Papa have to say about that!”

“Are you talking about Marius again?” shouted an exasperated voice from the other room.

“Good morning, Éponine!” Enjolras called back.

Éponine emerged from her room, bleary eyed and probably only just awake. “She hasn’t stopped talking about him for three days, honestly. I don’t know how this is the first you’ve heard about him, _moineau_.” There was something more than simple irritation in her eyes that Enjolras couldn’t quite place, but they all had secrets and it wasn’t his place to pry.

“Join us for lunch?” Enjolras offered. Though they weren’t blood related, he still considered Éponine like a sister, and hoped that she felt the same about him.

The rest of lunch passed amicably, with anecdotes about friends and classmates, until it was time for Cosette to leave for work. Enjolras had hardly thought about his previous confession until it was time for Cosette to leave.

“Do you want to walk me?” she asked, putting a hand out for Enjolras to take. _Le Musain_ was on his way home and he did like to spend time with his sister. He stood up and linked hands with his sister.

If Enjolras was going to tell her, now was the time. She had had her excited gush about her new boyfriend, and she wasn’t going to be able to drill him on anything, lest she be late for her shift.

“Cosette,” he began, for the umpteenth time. His voice must have sounded shaky, because squeezed his hand. “I’ve got something to tell you.” Her thumb drew an arc along the back of his hand. He slowed his walk, and caught her eye. “I don’t want you to be upset about it, and it’s nobody’s fault.”

He took a breath to steady himself, but it was too late. Across the road, he heard someone yelling.

“Cosette! Hi!” A figure in a green hoodie and a dark beanie was waving, and then he was weaving his way across the street.

Enjolras’s heart dropped to his stomach. He couldn’t make this announcement in front of both Cosette _and_ Grantaire. Especially not Grantaire. He had to admit that he was happy to see the man, though, so his smile wasn’t hard to fake.

Grantaire slung his dance bag across his back, and bumped his shoulder into Cosette’s. “How’s it going?”

Cosette smiled. “As well as a work day can be, I guess. I filled an order this morning, though.”

Grantaire, himself familiar with the elation of finishing a commission, beamed at his workmate, and gave his congratulations.

“What about you, Jeanne?” he asked, and Enjolras had to hold back a wince. He had to have expected that Grantaire would use his old name at some point – after all, no one knew any better – but it still stung just as much as if it had been deliberate.

“She has some news for me!” Cosette said, obviously oblivious to the dour tone that Enjolras had been taking. Immediately, Enjolras shook his head, dismissing the subject as best he could.

“No, no, its nothing.” He paused, scrambled for something to fill the silence. The truth weighed heavily on his tongue. _Transgender_. He couldn’t do it, not now. “Just something about school. I flunked a poli-sci assignment.” He said, rushed.

Cosette’s eyes went soft, and she ran a sympathetic hand down his arm.

“That sucks, man.” Grantaire chimed in. “At least your right wing lecturer had to waste his time on at least one terrible essay?” He offered.

Enjolras coaxed out the laugh that was sitting in his throat, and Grantaire beams at the sound.

Enjolras and Grantaire had fallen into somewhat of a routine. They argued every meeting, with a regularity that you could set your watch to. Their arguments were loud, and they were sometimes scathing. Enjolras almost always said things he later came to regret, and he almost always apologised later. But outside of meetings, they laughed and joked and they were, very nearly, what anyone else would call friends.

“So I guess I’ll see you at the metro for leafleting, Jeanne?” Grantaire asked as they approached _Le Musain_. _Le Musain_ was a small, quaint café in the Marais district. None of the chairs matched each other but there was an odd kind of unity to the place, the mismatched ornaments and the second-hand furniture creating a welcoming atmosphere that had _Les Amis_ coming back again and again.

Cosette leaned forward to kiss her twin on the cheek. “Let me know how it goes.”

“Of course.” Enjolras waved at his sister and his friend and parted ways.

As his feet lead him on the familiar route, his mind was free to run through the humiliation of the afternoon. He kicked a stone out of his path, and it skittered a ways away up the path.

_If you can’t even tell Cosette, you’ll never tell anyone_. He thought. _You’re a coward, a total coward. Don’t you trust her? Don’t you trust your friends? What the fuck is stopping you, Enjolras?_

He dug his hands into his palms and walked quicker. His breath was already coming almost painfully fast, and his ribs protested under his binder. Despite the attempt at distraction, the thoughts came louder and more inisistently. He felt his negativity like a physical weight pressing down upon him, trying to hold him back from his brisk pace.

_You’re weak. You always have been. Mme Thénardier was right. If you can’t trust your friends with the fact that you’re transgender, how do you expect them to trust you? You’re meant to be their leader and you’re hiding all of this from them. Pathetic._

Enjolras shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. Cosette always told him that he was too hard on himself, that he let his negativity get the better of him, but he couldn’t see any flaws in the reasoning. He dug his nails into his palms even further, almost breaking skin, and bit down on his lip until it bled, pushing his already aching legs to get him home.

 

 

The group of students streamed into the _Corinthe_ , congratulating each other on their leafleting efforts. They had handed out maybe 500 leaflets in the city’s major métro stations. Bahorel and Bossuet went straight for the bar, as the others went to find seats to rest their weary legs. The _Corinthe_ was by no means the most upmarket of bars, but it was close to the centre of town and the beer was cheap and the staff were as ready as anyone could be for a flood of hungry activists. The lights in the _Corinthe_ were always set to ten-pm-dark, the floor was sticky with split beer, and the air was often thick with the smell of just-smoked cigarettes, but it was a homely kind of dingy.

Enjolras bounced his legs under the table, looking out at his friends. He was filled with a familiar joy that radiated throughout his body, thrumming through his veins. These were his friends, his family, and it suddenly seemed ridiculous that he he couldn’t share a secret with them all. He could just say it here, now, and it would all be over with.

“Hey everyone!” Jehan called out, sitting up a little straighter on his seat. He was shaking a little, lower lip trembling every so slightly. Obviously uncomfortable with the attention, he drummed a little beat on the tabletop before continuing. “I have something to say. I’m –” He looked to Grantaire for reassurance, and his friend offered him an encouraging smile. “I’m transgender, non-binary. I’d like you all to use they pronouns when referring to me.”

Grantaire began to clap, then suddenly the whole room was alive with applause. Even some of the other patrons joined in, but it was unclear as to whether they had heard Jehan’s revelation, or if they were just clapping along with the admittedly loud group of students. Bahorel was the first to dive in for a hug, crushing the small poet to his chest. Grantaire kissed Jehan on the cheek, and whispered something into his friend’s ear that was obviously just for the two of them. Bossuet, in his excitement, managed to spill his beer over the table and Joly both. Combeferre and Courfeyrac caught Jehan between the two of them, and Courfeyrac took the opportunity to steal Jehan’s flower crown and shoved it over his own dark curls.

Amidst the excitement and hugs, and even as Enjolras went to clasp Jehan’s thin hands in his own, he felt another swooping sensation in his stomach. He couldn’t possibly come out now, it would just look like he was trying to copy Jehan or steal their thunder. Everyone would think he was a terrible person and wouldn’t want to associate with him any longer. He remembered a piece of Cosette’s advice from last time he felt this anxious, and decided to talk it out.

Once things had quietened down a little, and Enjolras was able to leave Jehan without it seemind odd, he headed to the other side of the bar and slid a beer across to Feuilly, sitting down across from his worker friend.

“What’s this for, then?” Feuilly grumbled, with his characteristic good-natured grumpiness.

Enjolras blushed, all of a sudden embarrassed about his decision. Feuilly was not one to truck with tomfoolery, and Enjolras already felt like he was wasting the worker’s very limited free time. “I’m buying your patience.” He answered.

Feuilly chuckled, and took a sip of the amber liquid. “What am I being patient for?”

Enjolras let out a shaky breath, trying to gather his thoughts. “Okay.” Feuilly looked at him expectantly. “Okay.” He said again. “If… Feuilly, I have something to say, and I can’t say it yet.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes, “Jeanne, if you’re going to tell me about your crush on me, don’t bother. _Everyone_ already knows, its not news.”

Enjolras went crimson, sputtering out a protestation. “What? No! That’s not… I’m not…” Feuilly crooked an eyebrow, indicating that he didn’t believe a word of what Enjolras was saying. “I’m not talking about that!” Enjolras finally managed.

Feuilly huffed a laugh. “Go on, then. I haven’t got all day.” He scrubbed his eyes briefly, realizing the truth in those words. “Second job starts at nine.”

Enjolras ran a hand across his burning cheeks, as if trying to wipe away the blush. He worried his lip between his teeth as he formulated his question again. “If you need to tell someone something, if you have something to say, but don’t want to say it, how do you do it?”

Feuilly ran another hand through his hair, his eyebrows pulling together. “What kind of ‘can’t’ is involved here? You don’t want to, or something bad will happen if you do?”

Enjolras caught his lip between his teeth again. He was going to tear right through it by the time he eventually managed to come out to his friends. “Both.” He answered after a pause.

Feuilly took a long sip of his beer. He laid a hand over Enjolras’. “We’re here for you, you know? Whatever happens.”

Unbeknownst to the other man, Feuilly’s words were too close to the truth for Enjolras, and he pulled his hand back as soon as he could. He muttered a quick “thank you” but his head was turned down, his eyes intently focused on the wood paneling of the tabletop. They finished their drinks in contemplative silence.

Feuilly glanced down at his watch and swore under his breath. “Sorry, Jeanne, but it’s time for work.”

Enjolras winced sympathetically. “I think I’ll head off too.” He offered. He waved out at his friends and the two of them were met with a chorus of goodbyes.

As Enjolras slung his usual red jacket on, Grantaire caught up to him.

“Have you eaten yet, Apollo?” Grantaire asked, sounding uncharacteristically anxious.

Enjolras scowled at the nickname, but answered in the negative.

“Do you want to? Eat, that is?”

Enjolras paused for a second, weighing up his options. He was tired, but Grantaire was good company, and would help settle his nerves from the thoroughly exhausting day.

“We can go for dumplings.” Grantaire offered.

This sealed the deal, and Enjolras nodded emphatically, a smile spreading across his face. “That sounds great.”

Grantaire easily fills up Enjolras’s quiet spaces with jokes and anecdotes, bringing an easy smile to Enjolras’ face almost immediately.

“I’m trying to get one of my final year pieces as a tattoo, you know? I just think it’s from this pivotal moment in my life and I need to recognize that sometimes, that I’ve been through a lot of shit and still come out the other side. You know the one, right, Jeanne? The self portraits?”

Enjorlas nodded in the affirmative. “Those ones with from July, you mean? Where you painted your eyes every day for a week after you got sober, I remember those.” Enjolras thought they were some of the most beautiful, frank portraits he had ever seen. He didn’t have the greatest eye for art, so he coudlnt comment on the technical side, but he knew emotion and he knew pain, and Grantaire’s series was so raw and thrumming with emotion that they almost ached to look at. Enjolras could understand why he would want to remember that work.

Grantaire then launched into a raucous tale of the last time he was with Bossuet and Joly, which somehow involved a cat, a VW combi van full of tourists, and a very angry fisherman. Enjolras was laughing so hard that he was in tears by the end of it, and wasn’t even able to order his food, instead leaving it up to Grantaire, who was much more composed. In the cramped space of the dumpling house, Enjolras’s laugh echoed off the walls and filled up the room in a way that would otherwise make him deathly embarrassed. There was something about Grantaire’s presence that made everything easier to bear, a camaraderie that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The conversation was easy, and never awkward, and Enjolras felt honestly joyous that he was friends with Grantaire, that their animosity was over. After dinner, when they were about to pay, Grantaire leaned a little closer across the table. He looked nervous again.

“I like spending time with you.” Grantaire said, apropos of nothing.

Enjolras, confused, responded with “I like spending time with you as well.”

Grantarie rand a hand through his dark curls. “I’d like to… to spend time with you more often.”

Enjolras felt his chest tighten. _No._ He thought. _Not this. Not now._

“And I’d like to ask you on a date?”

Enjolras’s eyes went wide, and he felt like all the blood in his body had been replaced with ice. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about this before, wasn’t that he hadn’t _wanted_ this before, but Grantaire wanted Jeanne. He wanted a woman, and Enjolras wasn’t sure how much longer he could be that for Grantaire. He felt his breaths coming quicker, and tried to choke out an apology, but was overcome by the need to run. He knocked his chair over, no doubt alarming the other patrons of the small restaurant, and bolted out the door.

He ran until his lungs burned, then until his legs threatened to give out on him. He fell into a heap on the sidewalk, hands already searching for his phone. He held the device in his hands for a few moments, the blue light the only thing illuminating him as he cradled his head between his knees. Once he felt he could speak again, he dialed.

“Combeferre?” He tried to keep his voice quiet and measured, but wasn’t sure of the success. At least his panting had subsided. “Can I come over?” Enjolras asked, trying to tamp down on the concern in his voice.

“Of course, Jeanne, you’re always welcome.” Combeferre’s pause was so thick as to be almost audible. “Is everything okay, though?”

Enjolras let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding in. “Yeah, sort of.”

Combeferre made a noise that indicated that he didn’t believe a word Enjolras had said, but Enjolras ignored it. They hadn’t even said their goodbyes before Enjolras was walking to the métro.

Combeferre was sitting on the porch when Enjolras arrived, smoking a clove cigarette and reading one of his books on moths. It was right in the middle of the medical student’s hospital placement, and he was overworked and under stress. “Come in.” Combeferre offered, waving up to the door. “I’ll make tea.”

Enjolras entered the apartment of his two best friends, launching himself straight for the pillow pile that Courfeyrac had made for him, resting his head on the taller man’s stomach. They allowed themselves a few precious moments of peace, but it wasn’t long until Enjolras was anxiously bouncing his leg, worrying his lip between his front teeth. His palms felt clammy and his chest ached with more than just his binder. Courfeyrac shifted underneath him and Enjolras turned his head further into his friend’s shirt. He took a deep breath but it came out shaky. His breath must have been louder than expected, because Courfeyrac began to run a hand through Enjolras’s hair. The tugging sensation through his thick curls was soothing, and Enjolras was able to still his jitters for a brief moment.

“Hey,” he began, reaching a hand up to brush against his friend’s.

“What’s up, _ange_?” Courfeyrac asked, beginning to plait together the blonde strands under his fingers. It had taken Enjolras a long time to enjoy the sensation of people touching his hair again, so used to the childhood tormenting that he experienced, to children tugging at his hair and asking _is it bleached?_ , not comprehending how someone with such dark skin could have hair so light. Courfeyrac was the only one who Enjolras would allow to touch his hair for many years, but Enjolras had become more lax with his policies of late.

Courfeyrac’s lips twisted to one side in concern. “You’re very tense.”

It shouldn’t be so hard, he chastised himself. They’re all very accepting, progressive people. He’d already left it for too long, everyone would be mad that he had kept the secret from them for so long. He couldn’t bear to see the hurt looks on their faces when it was revealed that Enjolras didn’t trust them. He should just be able to be out with it in a few moments and get on with his life. It should be a matter of a few words, but something held him back. Some niggling fear, some residual memory; A large woman snatching scissors from his hands, an angry voice. _What have you done to your hair, Jeanne_ , _you idiot, you wretch_.

Instead, he went for the other thing that had been swimming through his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Grantaire’s face when he ran out of the restaurant. It felt almost like the guilt was manifesting physically, stopping up his joints and pushing at the walls of his stomach.

“Grantaire asked me out.”

Courfeyrac became a flurry of motion, arms flying to Enjolras’ shoulders and bodily lifting Enjolras off of the floor. “Jeanne, oh my god! Je _anne_!” He exclaimed. “Jean-Pierre Combeferre, are you hearing this?” he called out to the other man in the kitchen.

“I can confirm that I am indeed hearing this, Jean-Michel Courfeyrac.” Combeferre replied dryly.

Courfeyrac tamped down on his excitement enough to ask a follow up question. “What did you say?”

Enjolras coughed and shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Courfeyrac intense gaze. “Nothing.” He mumbled out, hoping to all the gods that Courfeyrac didn’t hear him. “I ran away.”

Courfeyrac pulled his friend in for a hug, holding the shorter man to his chest. “Oh, my love.” He said, voice painfully gentle. “Why?”

Enjolras melted into the hug, letting Courfeyrac work out some of the tense muscles in his back. He wasn’t sure how to say what he thought without telling Courfeyrac and Combeferre he was trans. It wasn’t until Combeferre pressed a cup of tea into his hands that he found the words.

“I just… can’t believe he wants me?” Enjolras answered, trailing off at the end. Talking about this was enough to get his heart rate up again, and he started to feel light headed. “I can’t – I can’t understand it. I’m so, so, so… so broken and he’s so good and I can’t –”

“Jeanne, breath with me, love.” Courfeyrac asked, and Enjolras realized how quickly he had been breathing. Courfeyrac counted a rhythm and got Enjolras to follow along with him, until Enjolras was breathing normally again.

“It’s ok if you don’t want to talk about this, Jeanne.” Combeferre suggested.

Enjolras nodded. Then, weakly, “Can I stay the night?”

“Of course.” Combeferre and Courfeyrac answered in chorus.

After they had finished their tea, Combeferre lead Enjolras to their bedroom, bringing an extra pillow from the linen closet with him. He set Enjolras in between Courfeyrac and himself, and cuddled up to his close friend. Enjorlas let his muscles relax, and waves of exhaustion washed over him. He felt safe and relaxed, held between the too most reliable people in his life. They didn’t need words, and they didn’t need confessions. All they needed was this bed and their shared warmth. Everything was fine here, and he couldn’t imagine this bond between them ever changing. Enjolras remembered Feuilly’s words from earlier in the night – _We’re here for you, you know? Whatever happens_. – and replayed them as he drifted to sleep.

In the morning, Enjolras kissed Courfeyrac on the cheek, and disentangled himself from his friends’ embrace, leaving them to continue to sleep with a quick wave. As soon as he closed the door to his friends’ apartment his hands dove into his pockets, pulling out his phone.

“Step one.” He muttered under his breath as he dialed Cosette’s number.

It rung two times, then Cosette’s voice filtered through the line. “Hi, Jeanne!” She chirped.

Enjolras brushed off the discomfort he felt at that name and swallowed heavily. “Cosette, I need to tell you something.”

Cosette hummed encouragingly.

Enjolras stopped walking for a second, instead jogging on the spot, as if to shake off the residual anxiety jitters. Then, in a rush of air; “Cosette, I’m transgender. I’m a man.”

There is a small, very Cosette-like squeak from the other end of the line. The sound shoots through Enjolras, and he immediately regrets what he has just said. He wants to drag the words back into his mouth, go back to how things were before. He already began to dread the way Cosette would look at him, the twinge of _something_ in her eyes every time she looked at him. He couldn’t bear it.

Then Cosette’s voice came again, like honey and lemon tea down a sore throat, and Enjolras felt himself gently pulled back to earth. “Thank you for telling me, love. What can I do?”

Shakily, Enjolras answered. “I’d like to be called Enjolras, and I’d like to use male pronouns. If that’s ok?”

“Of course, _moineau_. Enjolras is a lovely name.” Cosette answered, and he could hear the smile in her voice. The warmth in her voice immediately cut through his anxiety, spreading from his chest through to his arms and legs. He began to pick up his previous pace, spotting the metro just in the distance.

“Thank you.” He said, whisper quiet, but Cosette heard.

“I’m thinking…” there was a mischievous lilt to her voice that had Enjolras smiling immediately. “I’m thinking, celebration ice cream.”

Enjolras looked down at his watch. It was barely nine in the morning, and Enjolras hadn’t even had breakfast, let alone enough food to merit dessert. But there was a childlike glee to Cosette’s speech that had him agreeing instantly.

When Cosette met Enjolras outside the ice cream shop they had decided upon, he knew there was more to this suggestion than just celebration, as Cosette was wearing her ice cream pattern blouse under a thick coat. Enjolras grinned at the picture his sister made, standing demurely in front of the store like a walking advertisement for ice cream in winter.

“How are you, _allouette_.” He asked, kissing Cosette on the cheek.

“I’m good, love! Éponine and Marius said they have a surprise for me today, and I’m having early morning ice cream with my lovely brother.”

Cosette orderd them ice cream, insisting that it was her shout, and easily found them a seat in the almost empty store.

“So who else knows?” Cosette asked in excitement.

Enjorlas drew an arc on the floor with the toe of his shoe. “Just you.”

“I’m so thankful that I was the first person you told.” She said, the smile audible in her voice.

Cosette sensed that the topic was making Enjolras retreat, and turned the conversation toward the next anti-racist rally that Enjolras was trying to organize. She allowed her brother to direct conversation from there, and it wasn’t until he started becoming more and more anxious that she intervened.

“Is there something on your mind, Enjolras?”

Enjolras bit his lip, and went to shake his head, until he decided that it was best to talk about this. “Grantaire asked me out last night, and I ran away before I answered.”

Cosette covered Enjolras’s outstretched forearm with her hand, eyes going soft. “Why did you run, my love?”

“Scared.” He mumbled.

Cosette tapped out a rhythm on Enjolras’s arm. “Do you want to say yes?”

Enjolras was surprised with the veracity that he answered with. “Yes.”

“Does he know about you? That you’re trans?” Cosette asked, trying to be delicate.

Enjolras shook his head. “I guess that’s just another conversation we have to have.” Enjolras sighed.

Cosette nodded, with a sympathetic smile. “Well,” She said, standing up. “Go get him.”

 

 

 

Enjolras went to open the door to the boxing room of Grantaire’s gym, but heard Grantaire’s voice. He sounded incredibly distressed, and Enjolras hung back a second to hear the conversation.

“I mean, she just ran away, out the door without even saying anything. What am I meant to do now? I’m so repulsive that she actually looked like she was about to throw up.” Enjolras felt a tightness in his chest, guilty that Grantaire felt so bad about what had happened. He hadn’t even thought about the other man’s feelings, but now there was just another thing to be anxious about.

Bahorel made a sympathetic noise. “Have you talked to her since?”

There was a pause, Enjolras imagined for Grantaire to shake his head. “I haven’t said anything yet, I’m giving her time.”

“What the fuck, man! You’re just moping?” Bahorel exclaimed.

Grantaire mumbled something that Enjolras couldn’t catch.

“Miss?” asked an unfamiliar voice from behind him.

Enjolras spun around, faced with a gym trainer. “Sorry?”

“Are you here for boxing?” He asked, looking down at Enjolras’s wildly inappropriate jeans and t-shirt ensemble.

Enjolras’s eyes went wide, and he nodded perhaps too enthusiastically. “Yeah, I am, sorry, I’ll just head in now.” He stammered out, and backed into the room. Suddenly the conversation between Bahorel and Grantaire went silent.

“Jeanne.” Grantaire breathed out, and Enjolras turned around to see his dark eyes impossibly wide.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Bahorel announced loudly, and raced for the door.

“Hi.” Enjolras said sheepishly, seating himself across from Grantaire on the fall pad. “I came to apologise.”

“Oh, you don’t need to –”

“I do,” Enjolras interrupted. “I need to say I’m sorry for running out on you, for making you feel like shit.”

Grantaire remained silent, and Enjolras took a deep breath.

“And yes, I would like to go out with you.”

Grantaire looked as if he had been slapped. “Apollo, you don’t –” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “You don’t need to do this just because you feel sorry for me. Please.” He sounded broken, and Enjolras felt terrible for leaving him in torment for so long.

“No, Grantaire.” He took the other man’s hand in his. His dark ochre skin enveloped Grantaire’s tawny-coloured hands, and it looked inexplicably right. “I _want_ to be with you.”

Grantaire shifted closer, and his hand reached up to cup Enjolras’ face.

“I’m back, everyone better have their clothes on!” Bahorel bellowed, bursting dramatically into the room.

Grantaire flushed red and pushed himself backwards, smiling nervously at Enjolras.

“I’ll talk to you after boxing, ok?” Grantaire offered, releasing Enjolras and looking toward his boxing bag.

Enjolras nodded. He had more to say, but he didn’t want to say it in front of Bahorel, “Of course.” He seated himself with his back against the wall, and settled in to watch Grantaire practice. He was so swept up in the agility and skill of the man he was now apparently dating that he didn’t even notice his phone ringing the first time. It wasn’t until he checked his phone to see the time that he noticed he had a missed call from Cosette. It wasn’t until Grantaire sat down next to him to take a break that Enjolras checked his phone and saw the missed call.

“I have to get this.” He said to Grantaire, heading out of the boxing room and into the larger section of the gym.

“Enjolras!” exclaimed on the third ring. “You’ll never guess what the surprise was!” Her voice was thrumming with happiness.

Cosette’s happiness bought a smile to his face almost immediately. “Should I guess anyway?”

Cosette laughed, a sound like chimes in the spring wind. “Go ahead.”

Enjolras hummed in contemplation. “A puppy?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“A kitten?”

Cosette laughed again. “Nope.”

“I don’t know then, what was the surprise?”

“They both want to date me!” she exclaimed, before Enjolras was even finished speaking.

“Oh my god!” Enjolras shouted, startling the heavy lifters. “That’s great, Cosette!”

“I know! We’re going to celebrate tonight, can you come over?”

Enjolras nodded before realizing that Cosette couldn’t hear that. “Sure.”

“See you at the _Corinthe_ at –” There was a pause and a rustle as Cosette covered the phone, no doubt conferring with her partners. “Seven?”

“Seven works for me.” He replied.

“Great!” she chirped. “See you then.”

 

 

Enjolras loved being surrounded by his friends, but of late he had started to loathe parties. He couldn’t stand the loud noise, hated having to shout to be heard, and he hated the random creeps that frequented the _Corinthe_. Like tonight, for example, when half way through the party, Éponine’s bastard ex-boyfriend Montparnasse turned up. Enjolras had been trying to ignore the sleazeball all night but the other man kept casting glances over at Les Amis, so Enjolras kept feeling like he was being watched. He surrounded himself with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, no doubt interrupting any make-out opportunities they thought they had, and only went up to the bar when absolutely necessary.

Cosette intercepted his path after his second trip to the bar, and pulled him away from the rest of his friends for a second.

“You’ve been looking anxious all night, _ange_.” She said with a pout. “I know you, and I know you want to come out to people tonight, but you’re worried about stealing my spotlight.”

Enjolras looked away, pretending that Cosette wasn’t exactly correct with her observation.

“I promise you that I’m ok with you telling people, Enjolras.” She said, pulling his face up to look at her.

Enjolras nodded, or as much as he could with his sister holding his chin between her thumb and forefinger.

“Good luck.” She mouthed, and pushed him back towards Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Enjolras’s heart rate began to pick up, but he controlled his breathing, reminding himself that there was nothing to be anxious about, that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were there for him no matter what.

“Hey guys,” he shouted over the loud music. “I have something to say.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre turned towards him, giving him their full attention.

“It’s been something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but I’ve been too scared.” Courfeyrac touched his arm sympathetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

“Whatever it is, we’re glad you trust us to tell us.” Combeferre reassured. Enjolras smiled. Combeferre always knew the right things to say. Enjolras had no idea why he had thought they would be anything other than accepting

“I’m transgender, and I’d like to go by Enjolras now.” He said, after a beat.

Courfeyrac’s face broke into a grin and he pulled his friend into a large hug. “I’m so proud of you.” He said into Enjolras’s ear. “So proud.”

Enjolras felt a tap on his shoulder, and Courfeyrac went rigid. Enjolras spun around, only to be faced with Montparnasse. The hairs on his arms stood up and he suddenly felt cold.

“Did I just hear what I think I heard?” Montparnasse sneered.

“Get lost, Montparnasse.” Combeferre ordered, standing up to his full, quite threatening height.

“Oh, trust you, Combeferre, to stand up for this freak.”

Enjolras flinched, like the insult was a physical attack.

“God, people like you disgust me, Jeanne.” He said, directing his vitriol at Enjolras once more. “Can I even really call you a person, though? Scum.” Montparnasse pushed Enjolras, knocking him into a stool and toppling the shorter man over.

“Hey!” Called a voice from the other side of the bar. “Don’t touch her!”

Grantaire stamped over, and pushed Montparnasse out of the way.

“Are you ok, Jeanne?” Grantaire asked immediately.

“I’m fine.” Enjolras rushed out, pulling himself into a standing position. The blood was rushing in his ears and his head felt like static.

Montparnasse clapped a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder and pulled him up, twisting Grantaire’s shoulder in a no doubt uncomfortable way. Grantaire used his position to slam his back into Montparnasse’s torso, winding the other man for long enough for Grnatiare to get proper footing.

“You really want to fight over that _thing_?” Montparnasse asked, his face twisting in an ugly way.

Grantaire slammed the heel of his hand into Montparnasse’s face, which made a wet _crack_ of a sound. Blood streamed out of Montparnasse’s nose and its hands flew to his face. Montparnasse lunged for Grantaire’s chest but Grantaire twisted the other man into a chokehold, holding him down.

“Oi!” called the security guard “Let him go!”

Grantaire squeezed tighter for a moment, then let Montparnasse go, holding his hands up in the universal sign for “what did I do?”

“He broke my nose!” Montparnasse whined nasally, cupping his hands under the stream of blood.

“Sir,” said the security guard. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge you with aggravated assault.”

“That’s bullshit!” called Bahorel from where he was watching the altercation. “It was self defense!”

The security guard ignored Bahorel’s objections, already calling the police. Enjolras considered telling Grantaire to run, but they were regular enough to the _Corinthe_ that the security guard could find out Grantiare’s name, and then Grantaire would be in even more trouble.

“I’ll wear this one.” Grantaire said, defeated, walking over to the security guard. The man was lead out onto the curb, along with his group of friends, suddenly not feeling like a party anymore.

“I’ll post bail!” Enjolras called when the police car pulled up by the curb.

“See you in the morning, Apollo.” Grantaire said with a wink.

 

 

“I’m here to post bail for Jean Grantaire.” Enjolras said officiously, glaring down the police officer. He handed over the money, and the police officer went to collect Grantaire.

When they were outside the police station, walking toward Enjolras’s car, Enjolras reached down to hold Grantaire’s hand. The other man looked shocked.

“Thank you for standing up for me last night.”

Grantaire let a small smile peep through and looked away, going slightly pink.

“What was the fight about, if its ok to ask?”

Enjolras let go of Grantaire’s hand, and begun to scuff his shoes on the pavement. “Montparnasse is a dick.”

Grantaire nodded. “Given.”

Enjolras opened the car, relishing the few moments it gave him to collect his thoughts.

“I’m transgender.” Enjolras said, and it felt like it was getting easier each time. “I’m a man, and Montparnasse was a dick about it.”

Grantaire let out a shocked noise, and Enjolras felt a twist in his gut. Then, Grantaire held out his hand.

“I’m Grantaire.” He said.

Enjolras laughed, and shook Grantaire’s hand. “I’m Enjolras.”

Grantaire reached over to cup Enjolras’s cheek. “Nice to finally meet you, boyfriend.” He whispered, and pulled their mouths together.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that the ending is so dramatic lol I hit a roadblock  
> List of tropes:   
> \- Cosette and Enjolras as twins  
> \- Enjolras is obsessed with Rousseau  
> \- Cosette’s pretty dresses  
> \- Cosette is a seamstress  
> \- Enjolras with anxiety  
> \- Grantaire’s Beanie  
> \- Grantaire’s green hoodie  
> \- Grantaire is a dancer  
> \- Grantaire is a painter  
> \- Enjolras is a poli-sci major  
> \- Barista Grantaire  
> \- Nonbinary Jehan  
> \- Bossuet’s clumsiness  
> \- Courfeyrac has dark curls  
> \- Feuilly is a minimum wage worker  
> \- Feuilly is a grump  
> \- Platonic Enjolras/Feuilly  
> \- Enjolras’ red jacket  
> \- Grantaire calls Enjolras Apollo  
> \- Grantaire is an art student  
> \- Grantaire with tattoos  
> \- Grantaire is a recovering alcoholic  
> \- Combeferre is a medical student  
> \- Combeferre loves moths  
> \- Everyone’s first name is Jean(ne)  
> \- Enjolras’s blonde hair  
> \- Enjolras is Melanesian (is this a trope or just wishful thinking)  
> \- Bahorel and Grantaire are boxers  
> \- Montparnasse is Éponine’s shitty ex  
> \- Montparnasse is the antagonist  
> \- Combeferre is rly tall  
> \- Montparnasse is italics man  
> \- Bahorel never goes to class but knows everything anyway


End file.
